


That Which Does Not Kill Us

by wonderluck



Category: Alien Series, Alien: Resurrection (1997)
Genre: F/F, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:31:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderluck/pseuds/wonderluck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The survivors from the Auriga crash-land on Earth and learn to navigate a land foreign to them. [Expanded]</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Which Does Not Kill Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tristesses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/gifts).



> This is a Yuletide treat. I've wanted to write this for a long time and Yuletide was a great excuse.
> 
> I originally had to end this a bit abruptly because of the looming deadline. I've expanded it since then. 2185 words added since posting. Last addition: October 6, 2015.

After the _Betty_ touches down like a ton of bricks outside the city of Paris, it's in complete disrepair. The passengers scramble to abandon the ship. A crash like this won't go unnoticed. They gather weapons and food, stuffing every bit into a number of duffel bags and backpacks. 

Johner is in a near-panic. "We gotta get the fuck outta here, man!" 

Call's head is buried in a closet as she gathers protein packs, withdrawing to toss them at Ripley who shoves them in a backpack. "No shit, Johner!" 

Johner grabs a handful of ammunition and clips, divvying them up into each of his pockets. He rolls a clip up in the sleeve of his t-shirt for good measure and throws the rest to Vriess.

Vriess is quick with the velcro on his vest and stores two more in his boots. He pauses. "What about the bodies?" Vriess asks. "Whoever shows up here will think we ..." 

Ripley shakes her head. "No time. We'll need to move fast. Can't pin dead bodies on people you can't find." 

Call pauses mid-throw and looks to Ripley. "We can burn the ship. Once the fuel cells blow there won't be much of anything left."

Ripley gives Call an appraising look and nods once. 

"How the hell are we gonna do that?" Johner asks. "Christie had flares, but—"

"Genius," Call says, rolling her eyes. She walks toward Wren's body, locates the burner, and shoves it into Johner's hands. "Try not to fuck it up."

"Yeah, yeah," Johner mutters. 

Ripley zips up a bag and tosses it outside. "Is this all of it?"

Vreiss waves an arm frantically, but only Johner sees him. Johner quirks an eyebrow and says nothing.

Vreiss narrows his eyes. "Don't even try to leave me again, you bastard."

Call tosses the last bag outside. "I'll be right back," she says quickly.

Call dashes into her room and falls to her knees beside the bunk, prying a medikit from the underside of her mattress where it had been secured. Moving to the doorway, she glances back, spotting her dresser. She'll need clothes that aren't shredded and crusted with synthetic blood. She gathers a change of clothes and grabs extra for Ripley. They won't fit well, but at least they'll be clean.

Call finds the rest of the crew outside, Johner at the ready. 

"Light it up," Ripley says.

Johner grins. "Always wanted to do this." He looks like a kid eyeing new toys in a Christmas display.

As Johner sets fire to the ship, Call stands close to Ripley, trying to assess her. Ripley killed the Newborn on this ship in order to save them all — a creature she helped bring into the world. Ripley's face is emotionless, and Call isn't sure what to think. Ripley surprises her and leans closer, shoulder pressing gently against Call's. Call doesn't move away.

~*~

They walk into the thicket directly behind the ship and keep going, trying to get as far away from the crash site as possible. The woods are thick and the bags are awkward, but they push through as fast as their legs will take them. 

Johner has Vriess on his back most of the time, both of them sniping at each other endlessly until Ripley issues a threat that shuts them both up quickly. Ripley has Vriess the rest of the time. She's stronger than Johner, and barely breaks a sweat when carrying Vriess. Johner looks dumbfounded and Ripley just smirks.

Once their bodies can no longer keep up, they slow their break-neck pace and make camp. Vriess offers to do first watch, looking a bit embarrassed after he couldn't contribute during their travels. Both Ripley and Call argue with him that, as an actual human, he needs rest more than they do. He refuses, and catching on that this is his pride at stake, Call relents and gives Ripley a pointed look to do the same. 

They didn't have room for much more than guns and food in the way of supplies. The water was heavy enough as it was. Considering leaving their two sleeping bags and blankets behind, they brought them out of the pure need for comfort, more mental comfort than physical. They'd lost everything and had nothing of what they'd known — all of them except Ripley. For Ripley, a simple blanket represented more hospitality than she'd ever had in this body. The entirety of her existence had been the bright, discriminating light of exam rooms and the cold floor of her cell. She'd been treated like a lab animal: crated and contained until they wanted to poke and prod her again. 

Johner couldn't leave well enough alone, almost as if his sole purpose was to push people's buttons, basking in provoked irritation like others would a compliment.

"Which one of you ladies wants to share a blanket with me? It'd be real cozy," Johner says, flashing a lascivious grin. 

Call tosses a sleeping bag at him hard, smacking him in the face. 

"Ever too tired to try to get in someone's pants, Johner?" Vriess asks.

Johner yawns and gives an exaggerated stretch. "Never, man." 

Night falls and Vriess takes post, sitting in the center of the group with obscenely large guns on either side of him. Johner falls asleep almost instantly, snoring loud enough to shake leaves from the trees above. Vriess throws pebbles at his head until he turns away and the snoring stops, at least until the next round. 

Call shares blankets with Ripley. She's restless, and no matter how she tries, she can't stop her mind racing long enough to sleep even though her systems desperately need it. She doesn't feel safe in these woods, in the pitch black. She listens to Ripley's even breath and wonders if she's already asleep. Tentatively, Call reaches her hand into the space between them until her fingers graze Ripley's wrist. She slides her hand into Ripley's and feels Ripley give a reassuring squeeze in response. That simple gesture stops Call's frantic thoughts. Her world narrows, and she can think only of the smoothness of Ripley's skin on hers. Finally, they both succumb to sleep.

~*~

Call dreams of the cargo brought on board the Auriga: incubators meant to die, meant to suffer a grisly end. She dreams she's sprinting down hallways, feet pounding on the steel grating below her. She tries locked door after locked door, trying to find them, trying to free them. She comes to a stop in front of a final door and gazes through the small window just in time to see the Xenomorph babies crawl from the gaping chests of their expired hosts. They sense her, turn toward her and extend their secondary mouths; their collective screech is so piercing that she has to cover her ears.

Call wakes and feels a wave of intense shame.

She can see Vriess in profile, his head bobbing as he tries to stay awake. The man is stubborn to a fault. Call quietly extricates herself from the makeshift bed and approaches him, shuffling her feet slightly to create noise so she won't startle him. It's pointless as he's slumped over, chin on his chest when she reaches him. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he jerks upright, making a small, frightened sound.

"Shh, it's just me," Call says, and he looks up at her, blinking as he tries to focus on her face.

"Hi, Call." His voice is rough with exhaustion.

"Hey," she says, smiling. "My turn on watch. You get some sleep."

"No, I'm fine, I just ..." He sighs. "Just an hour, okay? Then you wake me up."

"Sure," Call says. She has no intention of waking him until morning.

Vriess moves toward his sleeping bag, grunting with the effort. Call knows better than to try to help him.

~*~

Over a sparse breakfast, they start planning their trek into Paris. They have enough provisions for three more days. The city is visible when they venture to the edge of the woods — whole blocks blown out or leveled and the Eiffel Tower missing its top. They debate the best entry point and temporarily settle on Vriess' selection. 

Ripley notices that Call isn't eating. 

"You need to eat, Call. You'll get weak and we can't have that." 

Johner looks incredulous. "She doesn't need to eat. Shit, it's like you forgot she's a robot." 

Ripley snaps her head around in his direction. "Hey, asshole, do you really want to tangle with me again?"

The words are icy and true. Ripley _will_ hurt him if he keeps it up. Johner doesn't breathe a word for the remainder of breakfast.

After much protesting from Call, Ripley drags her into a patch of woods away from the boys and tends to her wound. Call lies half-naked on the ground with Ripley's hands in her chest. She chews on her lower lip nervously, much to Ripley's amusement. 

Call fidgets. "The tubes don't have to be reconnected in any sort of order, they just have to fit."

Ripley looks up from her work. "You going to let me do this or not?"

"Oh, I have a choice now?" Call says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Great. Let me have the plastiskin and we can go." 

She starts to sit up awkwardly, and Ripley presses her back down with a sticky hand. Ripley arches one eyebrow, all but challenging her to move again. Call considers it, temper flaring. She's strong. Ripley is stronger. She frowns, but relaxes against the ground. Ripley smirks briefly and returns to her task.

Call instructs Ripley through the last of it, desperately wanting to be finished with this glaring reminder of her artificial nature. 

They trudge off in the direction of camp, and Call still looks sour about the whole ordeal.

"Stop pouting," Ripley says. 

"I'm not pouting. I just don't like anyone to see me ... like that." Call avoids Ripley's eye.

"Was I supposed to let you ignore it until you finally died?" Ripley asks, quickly running out of patience.

"I was handling it. I wasn't going to die. You know damn well I _can't_ die, I can only be disconnect—"

She is cut short by Ripley's lips pressing against hers. Her eyes fly wide open, and Ripley uses the momentary surprise to her advantage, grasping the front of Call's flightsuit in a fist of loose fabric beneath her collar. She backs Call against a tree and kisses her soundly. Her lips are softer than they look; Call's mind goes foggy. Ripley pulls back before Call can fully process what's happening. 

Ripley holds Call's gaze and shakes her head. There will be no more of that. She turns on her heel and sets off, leaving Call dumbstruck.

~*~

They'll look like clueless, unaccustomed nomads wandering about Paris with so much gear, but they hope to unload it quickly. In a world like this, only weapons and sex will have any bargaining value; luckily, they have an entire arsenal remaining. 

They descend into the city at twilight. Call's programming leaves her fluent in any language, so she is tasked with making first contact and securing food. She waits at the service door of what might pass as a restaurant and charms a dishwasher into trading food for the alcohol she brings (Johner had protested fiercely at the idea of trading it to no avail). She inquires about lodging, and the dishwasher recommends a fleabag motel on the very edge of the city. The staff is of questionable character, but they deal in trade: no names, no information needed, no trouble wanted unless you make the mistake of not keeping to yourself.

Ripley negotiates for two rooms and two weeks at the rundown hotel, trading DiStephano's weapon and an extra clip.

~*~

They sleep for two days straight only waking long enough to eat. 

Call is wracked by nightmares. In this nightmare, Call watches Ripley fall through the grate into the alien nest. But this time, Ripley is torn apart by the aliens rather than welcomed.

She wakes to Ripley stroking her hair. Call blinks through a curtain of tears, and Ripley smiles sadly, waiting for her to speak.

"I was sure we would die," Call says. A fresh tear runs down her cheek. 

"But we didn't," Ripley says, her tone soft.

Call curls against Ripley — solid, whole. She waits for the remnants of her nightmare to dissipate. Her tears wet Ripley's shirt and Ripley smooths a hand over her shoulder. Call buries her face against Ripley's neck and inhales. Ripley stays quiet, no doubt wrestling with her own monsters. 

Call slips a hand under the hem of Ripley's t-shirt. Ripley's stomach twitches under the pads of her fingers, but she has otherwise gone completely still. Call kisses her neck and slides the hand higher until she is stroking the scar in the center of her chest. They both know more is represented by that scar than an incision; it is nearly faded, and with it the memory of why she was created will begin to heal as well. 

"They're really gone," Call says. She says it as much for herself as for Ripley. 

Call places kisses along Ripley's throat and Ripley comes alive. She slides a hand around the back of Call's neck, kissing her fiercely. A hand threaded in Ripley's hair, Call holds her tight as she matches her intensity. She rolls Ripley onto her back and straddles her hips. 

There's a moment as Call starts to push up Ripley's shirt when she catches and holds her gaze. Call wants to be sure Ripley desires this as much as she does, that she is not indifferent or simply passing time; Call doesn't think she could stand it. Ripley's stare is heated, and she nods, leaning up just enough to allow the shirt to be pulled over her head. She reaches for Call and draws her down into another hungry kiss. Call hums with pleasure. 

Each desperate kiss is a reaffirmation. _Not dead. Not dead._

Call feathers kisses along a strong jawline. She pushes a thigh firmly between Ripley's, making the woman gasp and grip at her shoulders, her hips, trying to get her closer.

"So beautiful," Call murmurs against warm skin, and her lips press promises against Ripley's chest. She won't go her separate way. She won't leave Ripley.

She slips a hand under the waistband of Ripley's underwear and watches her head fall back on a deep inhale, chin tipping up toward the ceiling as Call's fingers slide against her. Though Call has never done this, she is confident, and the sounds Ripley makes are reinforcing. Ripley's eyes are on hers now, breath quick through parted lips. Call feels a charge of pride as Ripley whispers encouragement. And then she can't speak at all.

Call's nimble fingers are so good inside Ripley, the heel of her hand pressing just where it's needed, and she falls hard over the edge, her back arching sharply. Call can't help but taste the salt along the collarbones exposed to her as she coaxes more shudders from the woman beneath her. 

Ripley goes limp. Call feels sated enough that she almost doesn't care if Ripley reciprocates now. She lays her head on Ripley's chest, listening to her heart beating. There is life in there with more purpose than birthing a weapon.

Call looks up to see Ripley's face so open, so peaceful, that she's almost unsure of what she's witnessed.

The monsters are truly gone. 

There's a noticeable shift in the air and Call laughs softly. "Uh oh."

Flipped onto her back, Ripley covering her body, Call's breath is stolen by the intensity of Ripley's kiss. Ripley pulls back just long enough for her eyes to relearn the flawless features of Call's face, and sweep down the lean lines of her body with curiosity and wonder. Her need to maintain control wars with her desperation for Call.

Ripley's desire to pull gasps and moans from Call is burning. She dips her tongue into the notch at the base of her neck and Call does gasp for her, a small sound like a secret that she greedily keeps. She pushes Call's tank top up toward her neck, too eager to finish removing it, and dusts kisses along her breasts and over her sternum. She fastens her mouth against the skin there and hopes to leave a lovely red patch in the center of her chest, but Call doesn't bruise.

Call sucks in a breath between clenched teeth. "Should've known you'd be territorial." The smile is evident in her voice.

And then Ripley's moving down her body, porcelain skin so responsive beneath her touch. She slows herself long enough to gently peel Call's underwear off, and pauses near Call's feet to take a deep, steadying breath to calm her urgency. Her lips ghost along a delicate ankle, the curve of a hip, and a soft inner thigh before her mouth is on Call, and there, _there's_ the moan Ripley sought. Call clasps a hand over her mouth to stifle further utterances, but Ripley's having none of that and pries it away gently. Ripley's hands wander, her fingers leaving fiery trails along Call's receptors. Call catches Ripley's hand in one of her own. She twines their fingers together, holds them to her chest, and Ripley's name falls from her lips like surrender.

"I'm here," Ripley whispers, and she tightens her grasp. "Right here."

Ripley clings to her, compelled down to her bones. Her head swims with emotions she doesn't recognize.

Call rocks her hips softly against Ripley's mouth, her free hand grasping at the pillow under her head like an anchor. Ripley winds her tighter and tighter until she finally comes undone — writhing, panting, soaring. Ripley stays with her as she twitches and gasps, one hand gripping a perfect hip. 

Call is trembling, and she reaches for her. Ripley is quick to her side and pulls the sheets up to cover them both. Call holds Ripley's face in her hands. She's still here, still alive, and not going anywhere. Call smiles. 

They share one last slow kiss before Call pillows her head on Ripley's shoulder. Sleep claims them.

Call doesn't have nightmares this time.

~*~

Each morning, they meet in Vriess and Johner's room to strategize. 

Ripley and Call are cagey about venturing outside. They spend much of their days watching the streets from their window, getting a feel for the city's population and constantly looking out for any hint of military. There's been no sign of soldiers in the area, but it's a large city and nothing is certain.

Vriess is surprisingly calm. Nearly two generations ago, his ancestors had lived in what was France before it succumbed to pressure and became part of the United Americas.

Johner is climbing the walls.

"I can't keep sitting here and fucking talking," he rants. "Are we ever gonna _do_ something?"

Ripley quirks an eyebrow. "You want to take your chances out there? Be my guest." She points to the door. "Do something useful and find Vriess a chair."

"That'd be a first," Call says.

Not even a near-death experience can stop Call and Johner's clashes. 

"Hey, I saved your little plastic ass when—"

Johner is cut off mid-sentence, wide-eyed as Ripley advances on him.

She grabs a handful of his shirt. "I believe you were leaving?"

He nods obediently. If only he had a filter between his brain and his mouth, he'd find himself the subject of her — or _anyone's_ — wrath less often.

"Call?" Ripley glances over to Call who is trying half-heartedly to suppress a smile. "Toss me one of the knives from the bag. Johner here is going to need it."

Call chooses a small but vicious-looking knife that should be sufficient enough to trade for a wheelchair. If anything, the search will keep Johner occupied for a couple days.

Ripley presses the sheathed knife into Johner's hand and shoves him out the door. He stalks off, swearing loudly.

Vriess maneuvers off of his place on the bed and makes his way over to their food stash. "It'll be nice to be on wheels again."

Call looks delighted at the promise of a few days' peace. As Ripley sits beside her, Call checks to see that Vriess is distracted before boldly tracing a finger along Ripley's thigh. 

She leans in close. "I'll be sure to thank you for that tonight," she whispers in Ripley's ear.

The look Ripley gives her is nothing short of carnal. Call bites her lip. Ripley quirks her head to one side, observing, before she rises to her feet and yanks Call along with her.

Call barely has time to tell Vriess they'll continue their discussion later before being pulled through the doorway and into their room next door. 

~*~

Call watches the street below from her perch at the window. The sun has only been up for an hour, and Ripley is still asleep, tangled in the sheets and blankets. Call smiles. It's raining again, and she checks to see that the bits of torn t-shirt she stuffed in the holes and gaps of the windows are keeping the water at bay; they are, for now. Soon rivulets of water will sneak past the material and pool on the window sill. They had discovered the leaks during the last storm which had been a nasty one, raining sideways for hours.

Call loves weather. This was her first time on-planet — having jumped from ship to ship her entire life — and experiencing something other than constant darkness exhilarated her. There was nothing quite like the heat of the sun on her face. At sundown, the light would reflect off the windows across the street and stream in, nearly blinding them, and she'd grin as she shielded her eyes and Ripley grumbled.

She had laughed her way through a rainstorm once when she and Ripley had been scavenging. The water splashing on her head, streaming down her face, and dripping from her nose and chin had greatly amused her. Ripley hadn't been so enthused, even more so after Call had jumped in a puddle and inadvertently soaked her from the waist down. Seeing the look on Ripley's face, Call had dissolved into giggles, which would have got anyone else throttled. Ripley tolerated it only because it was Call, though she'd still had her hands on her hips and a very disapproving look on her face.

Call had pulled Ripley into an alley and kissed her, drops of water from Ripley's eyebrows landing on Call's eyelashes. They had run back to the hotel, Call laughing all the way.

Ripley later admitted that rain had its merits, and she liked to watch hail.

Call sees people dodging the puddles that are actually large potholes littering the street. Most people aren't fazed by the rain or the puddles, trudging right through them in substantial boots.

A car passes, the sound of it's tires muffled by the window as it alternated over the patchwork of pavement and dirt that made up their street. 

"Johner said the vehicles here run on hydrogen," Ripley says as she sits next to Call and huddles with her under a blanket.

Call wraps the blanket tighter around Ripley's exposed shoulder. "I've seen engines like that before. I think I could fix them."

Ripley smiles. "I know you could."

~*~

In between looking for work, Call tries to teach Ripley about engine repair. She unrolls schematics across the floor of their room day after day, pointing out the parts and functions: heat exchanger, gear box, combustion chamber.

When Call starts to explain crankcase ventilation issues and the air/hydrogen displacement in stoichiometric conditions, Ripley is tired and aggravated. She snaps at Call, telling her she's wasting her time, that the technology she remembers is too different. Call yells back that she's just impatient. Ripley stomps off to the bathroom and shuts the door firmly. Call hears the squeak of rusted taps being turned and then the spray of the shower.

Call grits her teeth, knowing her own temper can be quick, and doesn't follow. Instead she wanders next door, and Vriess talks her down. He promises to help her with Ripley, as he's proven himself an excellent teacher when ramping Call up on the newer redesigns of fuel delivery systems.

Call returns later to find Ripley in bed facing the window and feigning sleep, though Call knows immediately that she is awake. Call stands beside the bed and undresses, slipping under the sheets and hugging Ripley around the middle. Call knows that she's angry with herself, angry that it's not coming as easily to her as it does Call — no matter how many times Call reminds her it's in her programming.

Ripley entwines her fingers with Call's. "Don't suppose I could find a job ripping doors off hinges?" Ripley asks.

Call grins. "Probably not a full-time gig."

After a long pause, Ripley says, "I'm sorry." 

"I know," Call answers. She kisses Ripley's shoulder. 

Ripley turns in Call's arms and shifts down to rest her head beneath Call's chin. Her feet dangle off the bed. Call holds her tightly until she falls asleep.

~*~

Call and Vriess have a steady stream of mechanic work. Johner is a bodyguard for a local outfit. Ripley hasn't yet found a place in society — not that it's a surprise with her people skills — but Call says she's almost ready to dive in on her first engine.

They pool their credits and resources. Someday they'll find a house to share and can stop living week to week in shady motels. Johner and Vriess talk about returning to work on ships, but haven't made any move to do so. Call and Ripley are content with a life on Earth, as they would be hunted the second they broke atmosphere. 

Here, Call and Ripley can stay anonymous. Here they can carve out a simple life. 

Earth is unexpectedly beautiful, and here they can be together.


End file.
